Best Medicine
by CCroquette
Summary: Sickfic. Sometimes it's okay to be taken care of.


From the Hetalia Kink Meme.

* * *

_"- and this has been the 10 o'clock news. Join us tomorrow for the morning report."_

Alone on the couch, Berwald clicked off the TV and glanced at the clock. Tino was working late today, he knew, but he usually didn't work quite _this_ late. Had something happened? Berwald picked up his phone and started to text him, when he saw the reflection of headlights through the window, and heard the sound of a car pulling in.

Shortly after, Tino stepped through the door, and dropped his briefcase in the entryway with a sigh. He looked absolutely exhausted.

"How'd th' meeting go?"

Instead of answering, Tino headed into the living room without bothering to remove his shoes, and collapsed next to him on the couch. Berwald supposed that meant 'not well.'

He put on the closest thing he had to a sympathetic face (the expression that Tino assured him looked second-least ferocious) and prepared himself for a rant about whatever issue had kept Tino at work for so long, but to his surprise Tino didn't say a word. He leaned over to rest his head on Berwald's chest, and when Berwald shifted to give him more space, he hooked an arm around him, pulling him in close.

He sure was cuddly tonight. Berwald stroked a hand through Tino's hair, watching as his eyes drifted closed. "Eat yet?"

"No," Tino said, so softly that Berwald almost didn't hear him.

He kissed him on the forehead and made to get up. "Put yer feet up. I'll make ya some dinner."

"No…" Tino's hold on him tightened. "You don't have to do that…"

Berwald sat back and frowned, thinking. The cuddling was certainly nice, but this was getting weird. Bad days usually made Tino stabby instead of clingy, Tino never left his shoes on after he'd come inside, and Tino was always hungry when he came home from work.

It didn't add up.

Berwald's eyes narrowed. Experimentally, he said, "But I like makin' dinner for m' _wife._"

"No, thanks," Tino answered, voice high and thready, as he buried his face against Berwald's side. "Not very hungry…"

That was it? 'No, thanks?' No furious grumbling? No steely-eyed glare? No threats to make _him_ the wife, if he wanted to conform to outmoded gender roles that badly?

Something was very wrong.

He pulled back, ignoring Tino's groan of protest, and put a hand to Tino's forehead. It _did_ seem a bit warm. "Y'feelin' all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just had a long day…"

Berwald took his chin and tilted it up to get a better look at him. His face had gone pale and a sheen of sweat glistened across his forehead - and the more Berwald thought about it, the more he realized that Tino really was unusually warm.

Carefully, Berwald disentangled himself from Tino's arms and left to get the thermometer. When he returned, he found Tino sprawled against the arm of the couch, and definitely looking less-than-fine. Berwald crouched in front of him, thermometer in hand. "Open up."

Without so much as opening his eyes, Tino did as directed, and a short while later the thermometer beeped a result. Berwald held it up to the light, peering at the little readout.

39.8 degrees.

That would be the problem.

Had he been trying to work like this? Sighing, Berwald reached forward to loosen Tino's tie. "C'mere."

Tino let him take the tie off, leaning to rest his head on Berwald's shoulder. When Berwald started to remove his suit jacket, though, he stirred. "What…?"

"Yer runnin' a fever," Berwald explained, and got a disinterested groan for an answer. "Let's get ya t'bed." He slid one arm around Tino's shoulders, and the other under his knees, and had just started to pick him up when Tino growled and pushed his hands away.

"Stop it!" he said, flopping back onto the couch. "I can walk."

Well, _that_ was more like it, though considering that he was having trouble even sitting upright Berwald had his doubts. The disbelief must have shown on his face, because Tino scowled at him.

"I'm _fine,_" he said, breathless. He planted a hand on the couch arm, and shoved himself to his feet… and wobbled. "I'm fine."

"Sure y'are, an' I'm Princess Ragnhild." Before Tino could wobble himself over onto the floor, Berwald slung Tino's arm across his shoulder and started heading for the bedroom.

They were halfway up the stairs when Tino protested, dimly, "But… she's dead…"

"Yep." Once they were in the bedroom, Berwald helped him to the bed, and then got to work removing Tino's shoes. His socks followed, then shirt and trousers, until he lay there propped up on pillows in nothing but his shorts.

Berwald had hoped that might help with the fever, but his hopes were dashed when Tino cracked open his eyes, and muttered blearily, "It's hot in here."

"I know." Berwald bent down to kiss him on the forehead. "Stay here."

Tino gave a nondescript moan in reply, and Berwald headed downstairs again. He returned bearing a basin of lukewarm water and a washcloth, which he set on the bedside table, and a glass of ice water, which he brought to Tino. "Y'still awake?"

"Yeah."

"Drink this." He held it up to Tino's mouth and nearly spilled it all when Tino twisted away.

"Ugh, no," Tino said. "Not thirsty."

"Gotta cool ya down before y'cook yer brains or somethin'. This'll help." Gently but firmly, Berwald cupped his free hand around the back of Tino's head - half-supporting, half holding him in place - and tried again.

It worked better the second time. Tino drank half the glass before he started gagging and Berwald didn't have the heart to make him drink more. He eased him back down to the bed, and picked up the basin.

He wetted the washcloth, and carefully started wiping away the sweat on Tino's forehead. Slowly, he moved the washcloth lower and began to bathe the rest of his overheated skin, hoping it would lower his temperature. As he worked, Tino relaxed a little, and watched him through heavy-lidded eyes.

When Berwald was finished, he set the basin aside, and felt Tino's forehead again. Whatever he had, it must be bad to have made him so ill so quickly - though, come to think of it, Tino _had_ been unusually sleepy this morning. "Y'been feelin' like this all day?"

No answer. Tino looked away.

Berwald's brow furrowed. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair away from Tino's face. "Why didn't ya say somethin'?"

Tino didn't reply, and Berwald sat down on the edge of the bed, still stroking his hair. "Lived with Denmark a long time ago, 'fore I met ya. He an' I fought a lot - always tryin' t' prove who was stronger."

Tino nodded - Berwald supposed he'd known that already - and leaned into the touch. He was starting to feel a little cooler, now.

"Got real sick, once. Couldn't stand to let 'im see me like that, so I left. Didn't want 'im to think I was weak." Berwald chuckled a little, and stood to pull the blankets up over Tino. "Didn't make it more'n a mile b'fore I passed out. Woulda died if he hadn't come lookin' for me."

He climbed into bed and laid down, chest to Tino's back. Softly, he continued, "When I woke up he told me I shoulda jus' said somethin'. No shame in it."

Tino was silent for quite a while, and Berwald started to think that he'd fallen asleep, but then,

"Berwald?"

"Hm?"

"I think I'm sick."

He stroked a soothing hand up and down Tino's arm. "Yeah."

Tino shivered.

He pulled him closer. "S'okay, I got ya."

"Berwald?" Tino's voice was barely a whisper.

"Hm?"

Shakily, Tino reached up to clasp his hand. "Thanks."


End file.
